


Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)

by sky_reid



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Frottage, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 23:52:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_reid/pseuds/sky_reid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Merlin and Gwen learn the hard way that winter is not the best time for traveling, but Gwen, the good soul that she is, saves the (holi)day. <i>Or how Merlin and Arthur met because of Gwen's horrid ideas and England's more horrid weather.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngelQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelQueen/gifts).



> Gift because she's nice and she comments on my stories and I like her. And because fuck it, it's my story and I'll do what I want with it xD So, AngelQueen, merry Christmas and happy New Year (as late as I am xD)! (I'll stop randomly gifting stories eventually, I promise. I just really like that option, that's all xD)
> 
> Rated M for mild language, kissing, making out and some frotting, but nothing too explicit.
> 
> Title from the song by A Fire Inside.
> 
> Um, so I don't work in an airport and I'm not a frequent flyer, so a lot of this may not be realistic. I suggest rolling with it xD Also, it's almost 6am, and I haven't slept at all so as to be able to finish this, so there might be more mistakes than usual - apologies for that.

  


_Paper Airplanes (Makeshift Wings)_

  


When an official-sounding female voice comes from the speakers for the first time with an announcement that _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for 7.30 in the evening, has been delayed due to a snowstorm_ , Merlin just rolls his eyes, hauls his shoulder bag from the floor and drags Gwen to the nearest set of chairs. Some people he recognizes from check-in as his co-travellers also sit down, but most of the other passengers are actually delighted at getting a few more hours for their last-minute shopping in the airport's huge duty-free shop. Gwen looks mildly alarmed, but Merlin just shrugs and tells her that winter is not the best time for travelling and these things happen anyway and they'll be on their way soon.

  


*

  


When the same female voice, sounding equally serious as before, booms from the speakers again about an hour later to say that  _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for 7.30 in the evening, has been further delayed due to a snowstorm and won't be able to take off for another two hours_ , there are groans and sighs around them everywhere, and Gwen looks at him and says “I thought you said I shouldn't worry,” and he just shrugs again and replies that it's winter, and it's snowing, and it's not like a three-hour delay is important, they'll still make it home for the holidays. More people are sitting down now, children getting cranky and adults getting annoyed, teens typing on their phones and elderly people reading papers, and only a few passengers are still somewhat amused by their free time. Merlin just slides down in his seat and relaxes into Gwen, closing his eyes and dozing off.

  


*

  


The next time, it's a different voice, this one even more mechanical and robot-like, and it's well past three hours since the last time there was any information on their flight, and everyone is already fidgety and nervous and suspecting something is seriously off, and the announcement of  _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow scheduled for 7.30 in the evening has been rescheduled for tomorrow, 10 o'clock in the morning_ , just confirms it; everyone starts cursing and stomping their feet and shouting, and Merlin just rolls his eyes, because  _that's not going to help_ . Gwen gets seriously freaked out and asks, “What if we spend Christmas in the airport with all these insufferable strangers?” and it gets her a few dirty looks. Merlin just chuckles in response and shakes his head, but the truth is, he's not entirely insouciant about the situation himself, and he's starting to wonder just how long a snowstorm can last. Still, he pretends to be perfectly calm, because this is the first time Gwen will be flying back home and she's not entirely happy with flying as is, so he needs to assure her that everything will be fine by acting like it will. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over his curled up form, leans against Gwen's shoulder and closes his eyes.

  


Above his head, some dick is yelling into his phone, something about how the flight cancellation cannot possibly be his fault and yes, he realizes he'll miss the meeting, but that's not why he's headed home anyway and some other business shite, so Merlin takes his iPod and puts his earphones in.

  


*

  


He wakes up to Gwen's not-so-gentle nudging to find he hasn't moved much in his sleep and his body is sore all over, muscles probably permanently coiled into a foetal position and his iPod is almost empty, and that's just really bad news for his seven-and-a-half-hour flight. He stretches and gasps at the unexpected cold the moment his arms leave the warm cocoon of his jacket and he curses as he unfurls his limbs into a position more resembling normal arrangement of human body parts. Then he catches Gwen's anxious expression and doesn't even have to ask before she says, “There was an announcement,” and Merlin really doesn't even need her perfect imitation of  _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for yesterday, 7.30 in the evening, has been rescheduled for 7.30 in the evening today_ , to know that they're not leaving just yet. He sighs and lies back into his seat, shucking the jacket off completely and folding it in his lap now that he's used to the temperature. Gwen seems to have made herself comfortable as well, her pale yellow coat curled around the back of her seat to imitate padding, and her backpack on the floor between her legs, but she looks a wee bit panicked and Merlin's not entirely sure if the slight swelling of her face is just sleep or crying. Her eyes are wide and pleading as she asks, “Do you think they'll reschedule again?”

  


“I don't know,” Merlin answers honestly, because Gwen will have figured it out by now, and he doesn't really feel good about lying to her anyway. “I mean, I've slept in airports before, but it was usually on transfers and such. I've never had a flight delayed for more than five or six hours, much less a full day.”

  


“Ugh, I hate flying,” Gwen replies, her voice strained and irritated, and Merlin just scrubs a hand over his face to wake up. He's relieved that she's not blaming him for making her come, but even if she's not, _he_ is, because if he'd just agreed to go a day or two sooner, they'd be home by now. Gwen gets up and mumbles, “I'll go get us some coffee then, shall I?” and tries for a smile which doesn't really work, but Merlin suspects it's better than his answering attempt which is interrupted by a yawn.

  


Somewhere to his left the same dick from last night is yelling into his phone again, pretty much the same things as the last time, and he sounds exasperated and annoyed; Merlin faintly wonders why the fuck the guy doesn't just quit the god-damned job when his boss is obviously a bitchy arsehole.

  


*

  


At approximately 6.30 in the evening, there's another announcement:  _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for yesterday, 7.30 in the evening, has been cancelled until further notice; passengers are welcome to change their tickets for another flight, have them refunded or spend the night in the airport's hotel_ , and Gwen whimpers at the ceiling at the same time as Merlin curses loudly, so he still hopes the toddler sitting on the floor not three feet away from him hasn't heard. The murmur of voices around them is indiscernible, but Merlin's pretty sure that the great majority of what is being said is just cursing and bitching. Which is exactly what he plans to do for as long as he can before Gwen interrupts him to ask what next, and he has to admit that he has no clue.

  


The woman who comes to pick up the toddler in front of them is crying, and her husband comes to her and, placing a comforting hand on her back, soothes, “At least we can sleep in a hotel tonight, right? And for free!” to which the woman smiles a little, but it all falls to pieces as a haughty drawl floats to them.

  


“Actually, you'll have to pay for a hotel room. The flight was cancelled due to bad weather, so _Virgin_ doesn't have to pay for your stay,” and of course it's the dick who speaks too loudly on his phone who says that. “Trust me, I've flown with them before,” he adds as he passes the couple and Merlin is mildly surprised to see a man only a few years older than him, carrying a laptop bag, a phone already in his hand again. He'd be rather attractive, what with his golden blond hair and a tall and muscled body dressed in what looks like a custom-made suit, if it weren't for the fact that while everybody hearing his conversations was just rude, this remark is downright mean and Merlin really isn't into masochism. The woman almost starts crying again, and her husband glares at the young man's back for long seconds after he's already gone before whispering something that Merlin doesn't hear, but he thinks he reads the words _try to gather enough_ and _we can't sleep here again_ from his lips. Which reminds him that he and Gwen are kind of broke and they didn't really account for a hotel when they packed their money.

  


“So, I guess that settles our sleeping arrangements for tonight,” Gwen says drily next to him, and although there's no reproach in her voice, Merlin still feels guilty.

  


“Well,” he starts, silently adding up the money they both have and subtracting the highest prices he's encountered for hotels so far, “if we combine all our money, we can probably get a room in the hotel and still have enough for some food for today and tomorrow. We can share a bed, to make it cheaper. Or you can go to the hotel and I'll sleep here,” he offers, because if there's one thing he's learned from being a foreign student with a scholarship, it's that he can live on next to nothing, and that the only thing he truly needs is drinking water which he can find in any public toilet, so really, Gwen can get a room in a hotel if she wants it. At least that way Merlin will feel less guilty for dragging her here.

  


“Don't be silly,” Gwen replies, smacking his shoulder playfully. “I'll be just fine here,” she explains with a smile that is small and tired, but still genuine, and Merlin just feels even guiltier.

  


“Gwen, I'm sorry I made you come. I know you're uncomfortable with flying and I shouldn't have pushed you,” he apologizes, because really, he can't take it anymore, and Gwen's usually charming ability to forgive is now working against him and making him feel like he's made an already bad thing worse by adding a bad experience with airports to her already existing fear of flying.

  


“Nonsense,” Gwen just says, waving his apology off and giving him another tired smile. “You were right, my father is sick and I haven't seen my brother in quite a while. It's about time I went back.”

  


“Well, at this rate, you'll just be spending Christmas in an airport and it'll be my fault,” Merlin replies, looking away and swallowing around a lump in his throat. He just wanted Gwen to have a nice Christmas again, one she wouldn't spend stitching up wounds in the ER or sitting in their tiny shared flat and watching family movies with his pathetic self; but one she'd share with her family (whom she hasn't seen in almost four years now), eating great home-cooked food and not having to wake up early tomorrow. Gwen bites her lip, and Merlin knows she's trying to think of something reassuring, a positive side to this fiasco, but he knows he screwed up royally this time; and how did they end up with Gwen consoling _him_ again, when it's Gwen whose holiday plans have been shattered?

  


“I guess, if that happens,” Gwen says, and her expression is resigned, but mild, even as her voice is unsteady and insecure, “we'll just have to think of some way to celebrate anyway.”

  


Merlin reaches out to touch Gwen's cheek affectionately and smiles back at her. “You're kinda awesome, you know,” he says, overwhelmed with gratitude for having her as a friend because this whole failure wouldn't be nearly as bearable without her as it is now.

  


Gwen chuckles and her eyes get that little spark of warmth that she keeps just for her closest friends and family and Merlin feels much better as they cuddle together in their seats, covered with Merlin's jacket that's a few sizes too big and tell jokes to kill time until they're so tired they can't even speak anymore. Merlin realizes that if this is how they're going to spend Christmas, he can live with that. It's not like he has much waiting for him at home, anyway.

  


*

  


When he wakes up the next day, Gwen is already sitting next to him and eating a sandwich. It smells like tuna and mayo, and it's the most disgusting thing ever, but Merlin's stomach growls and he's never wanted anything more in his life. He stretches and mumbles something to Gwen, who smiles at him brightly and offers him another pack of sandwiches.

  


“Sorry, tuna and mayo was the cheapest I could find, and you're not allergic, so I got that,” Gwen says as she takes another bite of her breakfast, which she seems to be thoroughly enjoying, even though Merlin has it on good authority that she hates mayo with a passion. He takes the sandwiches from her with a grateful smile and is just about to ask what happened to their morning coffee when Gwen reads his mind. “There was a huge queue in front of the coffee stand, and I was _really_ hungry.”

  


“'s okay,” he mumbles around a mouthful of his sandwich, and he has to admit that it does taste really good. Or maybe he's just really hungry as well. He stuffs most of his sandwiches into his mouth and is done with breakfast within minutes, because seriously, coffee. He takes a detour to the bathroom where he also determines he looks about as terrible as he feels, before joining the indeed very long queue of caffeine addicts. There's a familiar blond head in front of him and really, this just isn't his day. The guy's on the phone again, but he sounds more hushed now, he's not yelling and his tone is controlled and intimate, not at all arrogant and exasperated.

  


“I know how he gets, Morgana, trust me,” the guy says, and Merlin feels terrible for eavesdropping, but he can't help it because the guy is standing really close to him. For a second, he debates leaving the queue and coming back later, but there's already at least ten people behind him and knowing Gwen, she'll panic if he's gone for too long. “No, I don't think you should tell him either,” the guy in front of him huffs a quiet and humourless laugh, and his voice is deep and resonating, it sounds a lot like he's comforting someone and trying to help, and maybe Merlin misjudged him before. Then Merlin remembers the couple with the kid and the way this dick treated them, and yeah, he is a dick even if he sometimes doesn't sound like one.

  


Merlin makes an impatient sound with his tongue when the guy fails to move forward with the queue, so the guy waves an apologetic hand and takes a few steps ahead. Merlin realizes that at some point he stopped thinking _dick_ and replaced it with _guy_ instead, and he wonders how that happened.

  


“I'm so sorry about this mess,” the guy says quietly, and Merlin debates putting his earphones in so as not to listen for all of three seconds before he realizes that his battery is empty and his iPod is in his bag. “God, I hope I can make it before Christmas as well,” the guy adds, and he sounds so tired and wrecked that Merlin thinks he couldn't call him a dick right now if he wanted to. “Look, I have to go,” the guy says apologetically as he approaches the coffee stand, “I'll call you again later, okay? Yeah, I know. Just don't do anything stupid. Promise? Okay, talk to you later, sis. Yeah, you too.” He ends the call just as the woman in front of him finishes her order, puts his phone back in his pocket and orders a caramel Mocha which makes Merlin's mouth water. His phone rings again before he gets to even pay, and he sighs at the same time as Merlin rolls his eyes, but answers his phone anyway, tone business-like and on the wrong side of loud again. Merlin feels irritation bubble up inside his chest and has a surprisingly strong urge to drown the guy's phone in his coffee. The guy steps out of the queue to wait for his order, gesturing at Merlin to go ahead.

  


“I'll have two Mocha—“ Merlin starts, but catches sight of the prices and, wow, that's expensive. He takes the change out of his pockets and doesn't have to count to know he doesn't have enough. “Make that two espressos,” he says instead, but the barista takes out two of those tall foam cups and Merlin opens his mouth to protest but a tap on his shoulder makes him turn around and face eyes that are _really_ blue and shockingly warm.

  


_For having to listen to my conversations_ , the guy mouths with a hand over the mic on his phone and smiles, giving the cashier what looks suspiciously like twenty bucks and waving at her to keep the change. Merlin trips on his own tongue when he tries to say something, not even sure if he wants to thank the guy or to protest, but it doesn't matter 'cause the guy's already left.

  


For long minutes, Merlin just stands next to the coffee stand with two steaming cups of ridiculously expensive caramel Mocha in his hands, puzzling over whether the blond businessman's a dick who just sounds nice sometimes, or a nice guy who just sounds like a dick sometimes.

  


*

  


“That was the best coffee I've had _in my life_ ,” Gwen says as she downs the last sip.

  


“Most expensive as well,” Merlin answers absently, as he spins his empty cup in his hands.

  


“Yeah, about that... Who did you rob?” Gwen asks with a nervous laugh and Merlin finds it mildly insulting that she thinks he would actually rob someone for coffee. Then again, he has thought about it in the past, when their rent jumped and they had to give up some things and Merlin couldn't decide between paying the phone bill and drinking coffee every day. He shrugs mentally, figuring that the idea of robbing someone to get his hands on his precious liquid is not as much of a stretch as it really ought to be.

  


“I didn't, this guy bought it for me,” he replies as casually as he can even as the memory of those blue eyes makes him shiver a bit, and he doesn't really know why.

  


“Oooh, do tell,” Gwen coos, turning to him and wriggling her eyebrows.

  


“Nothing to tell, really,” Merlin answers conversationally, even as the apologetic smile full of perfectly white, but slightly wonky teeth creeps into his mind and tugs on the corners of his lips. “He was on the phone and holding up the queue and he wanted to apologize,” he explains, not sure if he's convincing Gwen or himself. Because the more he thinks about it, the less sense it makes, the way the guy smiled at him so honestly and acted so nice, and how his face looked younger and more relaxed and somehow _coy_ for just a few seconds in the middle of one of his terribly annoying conversations.

  


“But he only bought _you_ coffee, not everyone in the queue,” Gwen points out with a wink.

  


“Yeah, well, I was the next in line, I guess,” Merlin shrugs, eager to change the subject because this is just confusing as hell. “Did you try to find out something about our flight?” he asks instead.

  


“I talked to other people who slept here,” Gwen replies, her face looking a lot less warm and relaxed now, and Merlin regrets his choice of topic immediately. “Most of them are students, like you,” she says, chuckling, “too broke for a hotel.” Merlin sticks his tongue out at her to lighten the mood. To his relief it works, and Gwen pokes him in the ribs. “So anyway, they have no clue. No one's telling them anything. Most of them don't want to cancel the flight because they're alone here and want to spend holidays with their families,” she adds with a sad smile. “Imagine that, alone in an airport for Christmas. At least we have each other,” she says before Merlin gets to apologize again. “But yeah, nobody knows what's going on with our flight. It's not just our flight, though, all flights to England are cancelled,” she says, “but other passengers were notified before they got here.”

  


“So you're telling me the two of us and some 200 other people had the bad luck of getting stuck in the airport for three days because we wanted to be home a day early?” Merlin asks incredulously, because really, what is his luck. It seems to him that he spent all his luck for a lifetime on getting this scholarship sometimes.

  


“Actually, it's 416 people. And 8 flight attendants and 2 pilots,” she corrects and he gives her a questioning look. “I feel better when I know more about something that makes me uneasy,” she answers with a slight blush, but Merlin can see how that makes sense. “So I asked at the information booth,” she continues, but before she gets any further, Merlin stops her by lifting a hand.

  


“And they told you nothing, because they're useless and that's just how they roll,” he offers, because he's had enough experience with that.

  


“No, actually, they were really nice,” Gwen laughs. “They told me that the snowstorm doesn't look like it's dying down in the next few days, though, and that we will probably be spending Christmas here,” she says, looking down and Merlin wonders if she's going to start crying because that's what he feels like doing. But when she looks at him, her eyes are bright and she's smiling and she has that look that she gets when she figures out which other nurse got her stuck in the night shift again and Merlin is seriously disturbed because this is not going to end well. “They even gave me the list of passengers and told me who cancelled their flight and who took another flight to Europe,” she adds with a bright smile and now Merlin is really concerned.

  


“Why do you need that?” he asks, sounding panicky even to himself.

  


“Oh, nothing really,” she assures him, but he knows that look, and Gwen has _an idea_ and her ideas don't generally turn out well. “I just want to have Christmas, that's all.”

  


Merlin forgets the coffee and the guy who may or may not be a dick and how uncomfortable sleeping in plastic chairs is, in favour of pestering Gwen about her idea for the rest of the day. She doesn't say anything and doesn't clue him in with much other than talk about Christmas spirit and spending holidays alone and she just smiles secretively at him. Merlin really doesn't like this.

  


*

  


However, come morning Merlin wakes up because he's  _sweating_ under his jacket and yeah, the airport must have cranked up the heating because even Gwen's Christmas spirit is not enough to warm up an entire airport. But her persuasive powers just might be, Merlin realizes, and he starts looking for her because he needs to learn this trick for next time he gets stuck anywhere. He finds her in a secluded corner, talking on the phone, smiling and gazing at the wall in front of her with a soft and loving expression; he figures she's talking to her brother, so he stays a polite distance away, waiting for her, but as soon as he hears her footsteps approaching he blurts, “How the fuck did you get them to turn up the heating  _and_ give you the information you want?”

  


Gwen laughs and pockets her phone, answering, “I asked them nicely?” Her tone is just teasing enough for Merlin to catch it and yeah, he guesses that Gwen's impeccable manners and sweet demeanour work better than his yelling and shouting and threatening, but he's never quite mastered that kicked-puppy look that melts everyone's hearts which is Gwen's speciality and which usually gets her things without shouting matches. “Elyan says he heard about the storm on the news and he's really sorry we're stuck here. But he appreciates the effort. He wished us a merry Christmas because phone lines will be a mess tomorrow,” she explains as they walk back to where they've made camp. Several of their co-sufferers wave at Gwen and she waves back, but Merlin barely recognizes two or three of them.

  


“When the hell did you manage to meet so many people?” he asks disbelievingly as another elderly lady waves at Gwen.

  


“You sleep _a lot_ ,” Gwen snorts and Merlin sticks his tongue out at her. “Also, I'm _nice_.”

  


“I'm nice too!” Merlin counters, because really, the last time he was actually rude was a few weeks after he met Gwen. She gave him a look then that he swears he'll remember for as long as he lives and he hasn't told anyone off particularly badly since, in fear of her disappointment and wrath.

  


“You're _polite_ ,” Gwen corrects gently. “Most of the time.”

  


“There's a difference?” Merlin jokes and Gwen just rolls her eyes excessively at him.

  


“Come on, we have lots of work for today,” she tells him and first he thinks she's joking. Then she starts digging around some bags that are not hers and he wonders what the fuck he just obviously missed because it's not like Gwen to go through other people's stuff.

  


“Um, Gwen?” he asks, unsure of what to say.

  


“Oh, this is the idea you wanted to know about,” she replies, her arms still buried elbow-deep in the bags. “I talked to the girls who work here and they agreed that if 500 people are spending their holidays here, we may as well give the place a more holiday-like feel.” She turns around to face him with arms full of Christmas ornaments and a smile as bright as the neon lights above them. “You'll help me hang these, right?” she asks with her best puppy eyes trained steadily on him and he can never say no to those.

  


“I guess you already have tape and everything?” She nods enthusiastically and dumps the ornaments into his hands, already telling him what she's planned to put up and where. Merlin follows obediently because it seems like a nice thing to do, and it's just like Gwen to want to do it. Maybe her idea is not as bad as he's learned to expect from her. Then again, all of her ideas sounded good in the beginning.

  


*

  


Turns out, Gwen's managed to recruit all the kids from their unfortunate flight to help with the decorating and Merlin has to admit that he's had fun doing it. The airport looks much more homey now, with bright-coloured decorations and tinsels on hospital-white ceilings and walls. It's not really an interior designer's dream, but he suspects that's exactly what makes it feel like holidays, like family and home-made and improvising. He's just about to concede that maybe this idea really was as innocuous as Gwen presented it, when the other shoe drops and she climbs on the chair she usually sleeps in and yells for attention. Merlin gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that the decorating was just a diversion to make him relax.

  


“Hello everyone, thank you for coming,” she says with a smile that lights up the entire airport. “I know you're all very sceptic about this, but I promise you it will be fun.” Merlin rolls his eyes because maybe nobody else knows, but he's heard this speech already, multiple times, and it never ended well. “I'll explain right away so as not to waste time,” she offers, reaching out for a large box that one of her young assistants hands her.

  


“There are 416 seats on our flight, 23 in the first class, 80 in the business one and 313 in the economy one. Unfortunately, 92 people from the economy class have already cancelled their tickets or taken different flights,” she tells everyone, serious and confident, almost business-like, but still warm and friendly; Merlin suspects her bubbly and helping personality is the only reason why everyone really is here, as far as he can tell. “That leaves us with 324 adults. Now, I've noticed that some of you are travelling alone,” she pauses to nod at a few people in the front rows, “and I personally think that Christmas is a time when no one should be lonely.” Some people clap and others whistle in agreement as Gwen smiles fondly at them and the circle around her tightens with people straining to hear her. “So, I suggest that people with the last 162 seats on the plane, all from the economy class, put their IDs in this box. The rest will then pull out an ID each and thus randomly pick their Christmas buddy,” Gwen ends with a smile and Merlin shakes his head, because there's no way anyone's agreeing to this. Except that people are, especially those who are travelling alone and those Merlin's seen speaking to Gwen lately.

  


“Of course, you don't have to participate,” Gwen adds, “but it would be really nice if you did.” Somebody asks what a Christmas buddy actually is, and Merlin curses internally, because encouragement is the last thing Gwen needs and how can this idiot not see that. “It's a person you randomly pull from the box who you will spend the rest of today and tomorrow with. You should get to know them and buy them a gift and just make their holiday generally pleasurable,” she explains with a smile and a few more people nod in agreement with the idea.

  


Merlin doesn't even know why he's so opposed to this, it actually sounds nice and he figures people will rather spend Christmas with a stranger than alone, but he just has a terrible feeling about this that he can't shake. In the end, he's among the last ones to put their ID in the box, one of those people who are stalked by puppy-eyed children and a motherly-looking Gwen until they finally cave in. The truth is, he only does it when Gwen threatens him with that look again and he curses at himself for being so damn weak when it comes to his friend's happiness. He reluctantly slips his ID in just as Gwen is yelling that people should give their buddies a chance and not judge immediately and he has a feeling that she's talking about him amongst others.

  


He runs off to sit in the centre of the airport with the other people waiting for their IDs to be given back to them by their new shadows. He can feel Gwen's eyes following him as he goes, but doesn't turn to look at her. He really doesn't like this idea – he's never been good at interacting with people he had just met, and he's never really had a particular wish to be nice to everyone on Christmas; Gwen knows this better than anyone and he suspects this is her way to teach him some holiday spirit. It makes him hate the idea even more.

  


*

  


Merlin watches as people walk away in couples, some looking amused, some hopeful, but most actually making polite small talk and chatting their time away; it makes his scepticism fade somewhat, allowing him to think that, okay, maybe somebody will have a better holiday because of the goodness of Gwen's heart. Of course, he's one of the last ones there and the nervous fidgeting around him makes him sit on the edge of his seat as well. He doesn't have a strong desire to participate but he doesn't really want to be the awkward kid left behind and avoided by everyone either.

  


“I guess we can spend Christmas together,” the girl sitting next to him says when they're left with only three more anxious companions. “If, you know, nobody got us.”

  


“Or if we get some pompous, arrogant, obnoxious, rich prat who thinks they're too good for us?” he offers and the girl chuckles, her shoulders relaxing a bit. Merlin figures maybe this doesn't have to suck too bad.

  


“I thought we were supposed to give our buddies a chance, _Mer_ lin,” he hears and he knows that voice and that drawl and there it is, his unbelievable bad luck kicking in, and of course it does have to suck too bad; damn it, he knew this was a terrible idea.

  


Sure enough, when he looks away from the girl and in front of himself, the blond guy who bought him coffee is standing there, waving his ID in his face. “Of course,” he mumbles as he stands up. He wants to offer for the girl to go with them, but a tall man approaches her and introduces himself as Percy, offering her ID back and kissing her hand. She blushes and mumbles  _Freya_ , completely forgetting about Merlin instantly. Merlin concedes that he can't really blame her, not with her buddy, Mr. Knight-In-Shining-Armor before his eyes.

  


“So,” the guy in front of him says, holding out the ID. “I'm Arthur Pendragon.”

  


“Of course you are,” Merlin replies sarcastically, snatching his ID from the guy's hand and packing it back into his wallet. The guy is obviously a first-class jerk who was drugged with some nice-guy serum yesterday and Merlin's indignation at Gwen's idea comes back full-force when he thinks about having to spend two whole days with this clodpoll. “You can drop the jokes right now, I've heard them all before,” he spits, already thinking of a way to explain to Gwen why he's not participating in her little project. Damn it, damn it, damn it, he knew this was a bad idea, he just _knew_ it.

  


“Um, I guess you've heard of me then,” the guy replies, and seriously, seriously, Merlin's at the end of his wits with the ridicule of his name already.

  


“Oh, yes, I've heard of you and your sword in the stone and Camelot and all that bullshit,” Merlin replies totally done with being nice, and if Gwen gives him that terrifying look again, he'll just have to bear it, because this guy does not deserve people being nice to him. The guy looks at him for a few more seconds before he honest to god laughs, head thrown back and everything. “Yes, yes, I'm Merlin and you're Arthur, I get it, okay. It's really not that funny,” Merlin says, but the words are not as acidic as he wants them to be, because he's barely managing to stay angry while looking at the guy's long pale neck exposed to him, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with laughter that spills from his mouth, so not in keeping with his business suit and arrogant posture and derisive tone Merlin's come to expect from him; no, this is... relaxing and funny. Charming even. Merlin feels his lips curve despite his best efforts to keep a frown on his face.

  


“It's a little funny,” the guy replies when he calms down enough to actually take a breath and speak. By then, Merlin's anger has already mainly left him, and maybe he does have some Christmas spirit in him after all, because he feels good for making this guy's day better, even if it is by letting him mock his name. He certainly looked like he needed a good laugh, and this one was genuine, as far as Merlin could tell.

  


“Okay, so what _is_ your name?” Merlin asks, and that causes a few more huffs of laughter before the guy manages to get his wallet out of his laptop case and open it to his ID. Merlin leans closer to look at it because he doesn't trust this guy to open his mouth and not laugh right now, and then he's staring at a serious angular face in one corner and the name _Arthur Pendragon_ next to it. “Wait, your name is seriously Arthur?” Merlin asks, checking the ID again before he starts laughing too. It takes him almost two minutes to stop, and through it all, Arthur is laughing weakly with him.

  


“Told you it was funny,” Arthur says when Merlin collapses back into his chair.

  


“Okay, I feel like an idiot now,” Merlin says, voice breathy and deep from laughing too much. “I thought you were pulling my leg.”

  


“Yeah, I figured,” Arthur replies as he sits down next to Merlin. “Guess if my name was Merlin, I wouldn't really trust people introducing themselves as Arthur either,” he shrugs.

  


“It's just that men usually use it as a really bad pick-up line on me,” he says and bites the inside of his cheek instantly when he remembers that dropping the oh-hey-I'm-gay bomb is usually his way of trying to get rid of someone quickly. But Arthur doesn't stand up, doesn't even move away at all, and that scores him some points in Merlin's book.

  


“That's not how I meant it,” he tells Merlin with a straight face, but his eyes are shining a little with amusement and Merlin doesn't think there's offence in his voice. They stare at each other for a few seconds too long, and Merlin finds himself lost in Arthur's really remarkably blue eyes, and when he tries to remember why Gwen's idea is terrifyingly fucking awful, his mind comes up blank.

  


“So, are you?” he blurts suddenly because he can't think of anything else to say, and this whole staring at each other is making Merlin's stomach flip in what he is definitely not going to admit is hope and maybe a little bud of a crush forming. The question makes perfect sense to him, but Arthur is just staring at him in befuddlement. “Some pompous, arrogant, obnoxious, rich prat who thinks he's too good for an economy-class traveller?” he clarifies.

  


Arthur looks away and laughs that humourless and distant laugh Merlin's heard him use when talking to his sister and it sends chills down his spine – there is a glaring difference between this sound and the one Merlin inadvertently caused earlier. “I should be,” Arthur replies, and there's some sort of disillusionment behind it that Merlin doesn't understand yet. “But I don't want to be,” Arthur adds quietly; Merlin wonders what he did to deserve such honesty when Arthur turns to face him again, and he's rendered speechless by those intense blue eyes again, and this is downright embarrassing and he can swear honestly that it hasn't happened to him since he was  _eleven_ , but that doesn't stop it from happening now. “I know you heard me speaking to my father,” Arthur says, not moving and not looking away, but clearly not at ease with the topic. “I saw your satellite dishes protruding from that dinosaur jacket of yours,” he adds, touching Merlin's left ear. Merlin is usually not very fond of people touching his ears, so a stranger touching one of them in public should be mortifying, but Arthur doesn't pinch it or pull on it, the tip of his finger curves slowly over the contour of Merlin's ear, touching it gently, almost lovingly, and Merlin just  _melts._

  


“You're different when you're not on the phone,” Merlin says stupidly, because it's true and because he doesn't have the presence of mind to think of something better.

  


Arthur laughs quietly again, sliding his finger to Merlin's neck, just behind his ear and Merlin actually shivers, and wow, that's disturbing. “My father does have that effect on me,” Arthur replies, moving his hand away, and Merlin finally catches up with what he's saying.

  


“So, um, your father is your boss?” he asks, just to check.

  


“Has been from the day I was born,” Arthur replies with that chilling laugh again; Merlin makes a mental note not to bring family up as a conversation topic. An idea forms in his head, and he may be spending too much time with Gwen because it's as inane and altruistic and doomed to fail as all of hers, but then it completely takes over, and he can't think of another way to get Arthur's eyes to sparkle with amusement again. He decides he's turning into a disgustingly sweet girl (or possibly into Gwen), but he gets up anyway, turns to Arthur and extends one hand towards him.

  


“I don't think we've met,” Merlin says as Arthur arches his eyebrow, “I'm Merlin.”

  


“Arthur,” Arthur replies, shaking his hand and letting himself be hauled to his feet. He looks confused, but he's rolling with it and Merlin doesn't miss the smile creeping onto his features.

  


“I couldn't help but notice you were alone,” Merlin continues, smiling as widely as he can without looking like a Joker doll from horror movies. “I thought that maybe you would like some company.”

  


“I wouldn't mind it,” Arthur replies, and Merlin celebrates his victory internally when he catches the glint in Arthur's eyes. “Perhaps we could talk over coffee,” Arthur offers and Merlin nods enthusiastically. Arthur steers him down the hall towards a shiny Starbucks sign, and it takes him half the way to the café to realize that Arthur's still holding his hand.

  


*

  


Merlin manages to learn that Arthur likes old school rock music, and maybe has a soft spot he won't admit to for bands with female singers, that he does sports and enjoys it, particularly boxing and football, that his favourite genre of movies is science fiction and that he is really a closeted geek before Arthur's phone rings again. It's on the table between them and it's vibrating along to an unoffensive quiet tune, and when Merlin sees Arthur reach for it with a resigned look, something squeezes at his insides uneasily and he puts a hand over it first.

  


“Don't answer it,” he says, not even looking down and keeping his eyes locked with Arthur's.

  


Arthur peeks through Merlin's fingers before answering, “It's my father.”

  


Guessing this would be as much of an answer as he would ever get, Merlin lets his palm linger over the phone for a few seconds longer before excusing himself to the bathroom to give Arthur some semblance of privacy. He stops dead in his tracks when Gwen waves him over and for a few seconds he thinks that she's going to drill him for information on his meeting, but then he notices the utterly besotted smile on her face and finds it hard to believe she will be interested in anything other than the admittedly gorgeous tanned man sitting in front of her.

  


“Hi,” he says when he approaches their table and Gwen waves at him happily. The guy she's with actually stands up and shakes hands with him introducing himself as Lancelot. He invites Merlin to sit with them and offers to pay for his coffee and Merlin thinks that maybe Gwen's finally found someone worth keeping. He politely refuses to join them under the excuse of having to go back to his own Christmas buddy, but makes sure to surreptitiously let Gwen know he approves of Lancelot.

  


“So, how's your day going?” Gwen asks hopefully, and Merlin can tell she's already read on his face that it's not a complete disaster.

  


“It's okay,” Merlin replies because it's more than okay, but he won't let Gwen be smug over her idea working out for them both. Lancelot seems like he's about to ask something else, and he seems really interested as opposed to just polite, which only cements Merlin's decision that this guy gets a thumbs up, but Gwen swats him on the arm playfully and sends him off on his way.

  


Much to his surprise, when he comes back to their table, Arthur is not talking on the phone and there's a steaming large cup of hot chocolate with cream on his side of the table. Arthur doesn't say anything, just looks at him thoughtfully; it makes Merlin squirm a little, but he refuses to be embarrassed when he checks Arthur's phone which is still on the table as he sits down.

  


“You turned it off,” he comments, not really believing the darkened and non-responsive screen.

  


“My father can wait,” Arthur replies, still fixing him with an absent-minded stare.

  


“But I can't?” Merlin asks, and he means for it to be a joke, but he sounds more hopeful and flattered than teasing.

  


Arthur's eyes focus on him as he seriously answers, “I don't know yet. But I didn't want to find out the wrong way.”

  


Merlin feels himself blush to the very tips of his ears and blames it on the heat in the café (even though the temperature hasn't changed at all in several hours at least), gets a warm feeling in his chest that spreads all through his body, making his toes curl and his fingers flex, and chalks it off to the sip of hot chocolate he takes (which is scalding, but it's still the best thing he's ever tasted) and refuses to acknowledge the speeding of his heart as anything more than a normal fluctuation of his body rhythm (which he hasn't had up until now, but who's to say it didn't just randomly choose that day to start happening). He steers the conversation into safe waters by asking about Arthur's job, and he's not sure if he imagines Arthur's stares to be even more intense now, or if they really are. Either way, their time together (which Merlin very carefully does not think of as a date) feels a lot more intimate after Arthur turns off his phone, and Merlin may or may not be proud of being more important than business. He also may or may not let his legs brush Arthur's (a lot) more than strictly necessary, but he wouldn't admit to that if somebody put a gun to his head.

  


*

  


It's past midnight by the time Merlin's eyes start drooping in spite of copious amounts of caffeine in his blood stream. Gwen said goodbye to Lancelot some two and a half hours earlier, giving him a shy smile when he kissed her forehead for goodnight; Merlin smiled at them and Arthur smiled at him. He will deny it vehemently when Gwen inevitably asks him about his day, but he covers Arthur's hand with his own a few times, and is exhilarated when Arthur responds with a light brush of fingers against his wrist.

  


Sometime halfway through their evening, as Arthur sheepishly admits to anonymously paying for a hotel room for the couple with the baby that he unthinkingly hurt on their second evening at the airport, Merlin decides Arthur is in fact a good guy. In the  _hours_ they spend together, Merlin finds out that Arthur is the CEO of his father's company, that he graduated in both management and economy top of his class, that he prefers living in London, but spends a lot of time in New York because of his job, that he has an avid interest in history, and a lot of random facts that just make Arthur who he is. He reads between the lines of everything Arthur says, concluding that Arthur is highly intelligent and very funny, but a lot less confident that he portrays himself to be, that he has a complicated relationship with pretty much everyone in his family and that he doesn't willingly talk about it, that he's content, but not happy, that he doesn't date because he's too busy, but does believe in love, and that maybe, just maybe Merlin has caught his interest.

  


Merlin offers information in return, telling Arthur about his studies of English and literature, about living on a scholarship and sharing a flat with a nurse (all very new concepts for Arthur, it seems), shares his unlikely ambitions to become a publisher, moans about how the privileged get more options than the middle class (which makes Arthur painfully uncomfortable, so Merlin changes the subject), laughs with him over some of Gwen's more abhorring ideas (including, but not limited to, organizing a speed-dating evening that involved all of her friends and some very awkward confessions, volunteering at a homeless shelter on St. Patrick's Day, applying Merlin for extra-curricular activities on campus without informing him at all and staying to help out in the paediatrics during a particularly bad epidemic of a resilient stomach bug), all the while avoiding bringing up the subject of family and keeping a carefully neutral face when Arthur mentions it.

  


It ends with Arthur completely ignoring Merlin's protests and paying for their coffee with a credit card Merlin doesn't dare look at, and an agreement to meet at Starbucks tomorrow morning, as soon as they're up.

  


“I sleep a lot, though,” Merlin warns him. “Or so Gwen informs me.”

  


Arthur just laughs and shrugs. “I'll wait for you,” he promises and Merlin can't help a smile that spreads over his face. He has a feeling he looks just as stupidly infatuated as Gwen did with Lancelot, though, so he consciously tones it down a notch. They walk in companionable silence, for not nearly long enough in Merlin's opinion, and Arthur doesn't take his hand again, but their fingers do brush with almost every step they take and somehow, Merlin doubts that's accidental. Arthur stops when they reach the hallway for his hotel and grabs Merlin's wrist to stop him as well, turning him so they would face each other and pulling him far too close. Merlin has just about half a second to wonder if it was accidental before Arthur leans into him until they're sharing breaths and he wonders if Arthur will kiss him. Arthur doesn't, instead just brushing their noses together and murmuring, “There's something about you, Merlin.” It's a simple enough sentence, and Merlin's gotten better compliments, but the tone of Arthur's voice and the intimacy of his touch make Merlin shiver and close his eyes. Arthur steps away and leaves before Merlin gets to open his eyes, and he wonders what the hell happened, but then Arthur yells across the hallway, “Hey, Merlin? Merry Christmas!”

  


Merlin smiles all the way back to where Gwen's waiting for him in their makeshift bed.

  


*

  


Gwen tells him all about Lancelot and what a lovely evening they had. She refers to it as a date, because they're mature adults and they talked about that. Merlin promises he's listening carefully every time she pokes his leg (which is true), but she keeps accusing him of falling asleep (which is also true). The thing is, he's physically exhausted, his eyelids feel too heavy and his eyes keep closing on their own, but his brain is active and he's perfectly aware of everything around him, including Gwen's lengthy story about Lancelot's hands.

  


“Oh, for the love of... Would you just spill it, Merlin?” she eventually huffs when he half-drifts off while she's talking about Lancelot's unusual sense of honour and chivalry.

  


“Spill what? I'm listening,” he mumbles in reply, waving his hand for her to go on.

  


“There's something you're dying to talk about, and I want to know what it is,” she replies, and Merlin rolls his eyes before he realizes they're closed and she can't see it, so he opens his eyes and does it again, and then again just for good measure.

  


“I'm curled up in a chair, half-asleep, and I haven't spoken in almost an hour now; how the fuck does that amount to me _dying_ to tell you something?” he asks, because seriously, only Gwen could make that conclusion (and only Gwen could see right through him easily and guess exactly what he wanted despite his best efforts to hide it).

  


“Merlin,” Gwen says warningly, poking him in the leg extra hard. “Talk.”

  


“Okay, Jesus, no need to get violent,” he replies, poking her back. He thinks he hears someone commenting that they're acting like children, but he's not entirely sure that it's not his own inner adult. “So, remember that dick who talks on his phone all the time? Really loudly?” he asks and even through the sleepy haze covering his eyes he can see Gwen school her features into an expression of sympathy as she nods. “And remember the guy who bought us coffee?” he continues, horrified to realize that he began smiling at some point and that he feels like a really warm kitten is sitting in his chest. “Well, it's him,” he finishes quietly, closing his eyes in a weak attempt to hide his crush (she's never gonna let him live that one down, hell, _he_ 's never gonna let himself live that one down), although he fears Gwen's already noticed it.

  


“So, what's he like?” she asks, and he can practically _hear_ her trying not grin at him madly and clap her hands with glee.

  


“He's... nice,” Merlin replies honestly, and the kitten in his chest grows to an adult cat. “He seems like a jerk, when you first see him, you think he's a pompous ass, but he's not. When you get to talk to him a little, he's actually a good guy,” he explains with a growing smile. Gwen pokes him in the cheek, but he refuses to open his eyes.

  


“You like him,” she teases.

  


“I've only just met him!” Merlin defends himself, frowning at her. He has a feeling that his frown is not very effective, not with the smile that he can't seem to wipe off his face. “God, Gwen, I have a crush, don't I?”

  


“It's cute,” Gwen replies, and it makes Merlin feel even more like he's in sixth grade again.

  


“I'm 21 years old, it's not cute, it's pathetic,” he bites back, and she just laughs at him. “I know next to nothing about him!” he goes on, because Gwen apparently still thinks it's cute and not ridiculous. “I don't even know how old he is. I don't know where he grew up, or how many siblings he has, or... Or anything!” Merlin whines, burying his head in the folded up hoodie that he uses as a pillow, his cheeks burning up, but he still can't quite get rid of the smile. Fuck, he's doomed.

  


“What _do_ you know, though?” Gwen asks him, and she sounds like she knows what she's trying to tell him, so Merlin goes with it, hoping she does have a good point.

  


“I know he's a good person. And he's smart and funny. Surprisingly easy to talk to,” he replies and feels his smile grow wider. He blames his lack of self-control and clarity of thought on being tired and pumped full of caffeine at the same time.

  


“Oh, Merlin. That's more than enough,” Gwen whispers in his ear and kisses his forehead. Something about the way she says it, not mocking at all, but on the contrary, serious and encouraging and approving, wakes him up more than all the coffee he's had that day. “I'll go check how the day went for everyone else. Well, for those who are still awake anyway,” Gwen tells him and he hears her leave, but doesn't reply, too lost in his own thoughts to react.

  


*

  


Merlin doesn't sleep that night. Gwen comes back after almost an hour and a half, satisfied and proud and Merlin must admit (but only in the privacy of his own mind) that for once her idea really was good. He pretends to be asleep and she lies next to him, drifting off almost immediately. Around 4 he stops even trying to sleep, sits up and leafs through travel brochures the airport provides, because he's already read the book Gwen has in her backpack and the rest of his books are in his suitcase. Around 6, he digs through his bag to find the shirt Gwen bought for her brother when they went to Mt. Rushmore and changes into it because it's cleaner than the shirt he's been wearing for the past few days. Around 7, Gwen stirs but doesn't wake up, and Merlin suffers from his first assault of exhaustion of the day. At 8, he's bored and tired and cranky to a point where he doesn't even care if he seems desperate, so he heads for Starbucks.

  


He debates buying coffee from the airport's coffee stand (which is expensive, but still cheaper than Starbucks), but decides that he can just nurse an espresso for however long it takes for Arthur to show up. Only, when he gets to the café, Arthur's already sitting at their table from last night and talking on the phone. He's not wearing a suit today, but dark jeans and a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone. His voice is raised and he sounds annoyed, but he's not yelling as much as the last few times Merlin was forced to listen in on his conversations, although he is certainly talking to his father because he keeps mentioning some meeting and some shares and other things Merlin doesn't know or care about. Merlin stops at the entrance to let Arthur finish his phone call, but Arthur notices him; he smiles immediately, almost as if it's a reflex to him, his expression becoming more relaxed, his eyes twinkling as he waves Merlin over, and Merlin thinks that maybe he's not the only one who's hopelessly twelve.

  


Arthur stands up when Merlin approaches and pulls his chair out for him and Merlin actually blushes, as if the dopey smile on his face wasn't embarrassing enough. Arthur's hand brushes over his lower back, and his skin tingles all over even after Arthur sits down in front of him.

  


“Father, I have to go,” Arthur declares, looking into Merlin's eyes. “Father. Merry Christmas and good night,” Arthur says in a tone that really begs no argument and ends the call, turning his phone off as soon as he does so, and placing it on the table between them. Merlin doesn't say a word, but he runs his fingers over Arthur's when he puts the phone down. Arthur smiles at him. “Hi,” he breathes quietly, holding Merlin's hand when he tries to move it away.

  


“You're confusing,” Merlin replies, before he gets to change his mind about being an adult and actually discussing how he feels. Arthur sits a little further back in his chair and his fingers twitch where they're pressed against Merlin's, but his hand stays in place.

  


“How so?” he asks carefully.

  


“You walk around like you own the planet, and you snap at people, and you shout a lot,” Merlin says. Arthur's face is completely expressionless, and Merlin thinks that he must spend a lot of time hiding his true self from everyone, because he's really good at it. “But then you're not on the phone anymore, and you're yourself. You apologize and you help. You're a good person, Arthur. I don't know why you don't show that to everybody,” Merlin finishes, feeling more and more nervous with every word, because Arthur's mien hasn't changed and with every flex of his fingers, Merlin expects him to take his hand back.

  


“I'm told I have quite a temper,” Arthur replies eventually. “It seems to flare up in my father's presence, or when I talk to him,” he adds. His voice is too controlled even for Merlin to know if he's hurt or insulted or angry. He looks to Arthur's eyes for an answer, and Arthur stares back at him blankly for a few awkward and silent seconds. An oblivious waitress approaches their table and they both look away at the same time, Arthur letting go of Merlin's hand. Merlin can swear he imagines the way Arthur squeezes his fingers gently before moving away.

  


*

  


“I'm 21,” Merlin says when he's halfway through his cappuccino and neither of them has spoken in more than ten minutes. It's awkward, and Merlin is fidgeting; he's been avoiding looking at Arthur ever since the waitress left and he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. For all his more casual clothing, Merlin finds that he looks a lot more business-like and official due to his cold and neutral face when he chances a look in front of himself. He opts to stare at his cup after that.

  


“I know, I saw it in your ID,” Arthur answers, and Merlin is definitely imagining Arthur's amusement now, so he doesn't look up in fear of meeting Arthur's cold and distant eyes. “I'm 26,” Arthur offers after a while.

  


Merlin goes through his mental list of basic information he doesn't know about Arthur and settles on, “I don't know why my mom named me Merlin.”

  


“The first thing my sister was gifted when she was born was a book on the Arthurian legend. My mother named her Morgana because of that. My father thought Arthur to only be appropriate after that,” Arthur replies, his voice going slightly deeper and softer at the mention of his mother. Merlin decides to test his luck.

  


“My father left when I was very young. I barely remember him.”

  


“My father is...” Arthur starts without hesitation, but lets the sentence trail off. Merlin looks at him and finds that Arthur is looking back, but he doesn't seem angry, he looks amused, and Merlin sniffs his cup for traces of alcohol, because he's never this lucky. “My father has expectations,” Arthur continues. “And I don't meet them. I try, and fail, and he gets disappointed. That's all there is in our relationship.” There's resignation and defeat in Arthur's voice that makes Merlin reach out and stroke his upper arm. Arthur doesn't flinch away, so Merlin drops his hand on the table after a few seconds and pushes his luck some more.

  


“My mother died of an illness almost five years ago,” he says quietly, trying to tell Arthur with his eyes that he doesn't have to answer. Merlin knows he's treading thin ice now and that this is something Arthur doesn't normally talk about, but Arthur is not giving him any signs to back down.

  


“My mother died while giving birth to me,” Arthur whispers back. Merlin cringes, regretting the question, but Arthur grabs his hand on the table and squeezes it, not looking away. “Come on, Merlin, ask me. Whatever it is that you think you need to know, ask me.”

  


“I-I barely know you,” Merlin stammers, confused and nervous.

  


“Seems to me like you know me pretty well,” Arthur replies, smirking. “No one's ever called me a jerk to my face. And within less than 24 hours of meeting me as well,” he says, voice still dangerously low. Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur cuts him off. “You're something different, Merlin.”

  


“You're still confusing,” Merlin returns weakly, melting under Arthur's stare. “And you scared me. I thought you were mad at me.” Arthur laughs, and although he's probably laughing at him, Merlin can't really stop a few embarrassingly girly giggles that escape him; he thinks that maybe he's a little infatuated, and his mind produces an unwanted image of old Gwen telling her and Lancelot's grandchildren the story of how old Uncle Merlin fell head over heels in love with old Uncle Arthur, and that is one disturbing idea.

  


“You would be surprised what one learns to hide when their life is an endless series of business meetings,” Arthur replies and Merlin smiles when he notices that for once Arthur doesn't sound weary, even though he's talking about his job. “It was fun watching you squirm,” he adds with a snicker.

  


“Jerk,” Merlin teases affectionately, punching Arthur lightly in the arm with his free hand. Arthur smiles wider and squeezes his fingers.

  


“Come on, we're not spending the whole day in a café,” Arthur says, getting up and pulling Merlin to stand next to him.

  


“Where are we going?” Merlin asks, downing the rest his cappuccino as Arthur tugs him to the cash register and pays. “You really should let me pay for my own coffee, I'm not _that_ broke,” he adds.

  


“When I take people out on dates, I like to pay,” Arthur replies as they walk out. Merlin blushes a little at _people_ and then blushes a lot at _dates_ but Arthur is still holding his hand tightly, and he's never felt better. “There's a platform where we can watch planes take off. We could start there,” Arthur says as he guides Merlin down the hall. “You can go on with your drilling if you want,” he adds, throwing a smile over his shoulder; Merlin trips and laughs at it with Arthur.

  


*

  


Hours later, Merlin is sitting on the floor of the glass-encased platform, wrapped in Arthur's arms (okay, so maybe he complained about being cold in the hopes of getting a hug, but he didn't really expect it to happen), asking increasingly silly and personal questions, because he's run out of the basic ones. To his credit, he always answers his own inquiry right after Arthur, so he thinks the exchange is fair. Arthur laughs at some questions, thinks a lot about others, but he answers them all and Merlin finds that he really hasn't learned anything paramount, just the little quirks and experiences that help him understand Arthur better and maybe give him ideas that are way too domestic.

  


“Milk chocolate or dark chocolate?” Merlin asks, leaning further into Arthur.

  


“Hmmm, dark I guess. Not too sweet,” Arthur replies.

  


“I prefer milk.”

  


“Any special flavour?”

  


“It's _chocolate,_ for fuck's sake!”

  


Arthur laughs. Merlin is watching a large Lufthansa plane's wheels leave the ground, still deciding between _Word or OpenOffice?_ and _What was the longest you've ever gone without sleep?_ when he feels Arthur's slightly chapped lips pressed against his ear and over the roaring of four aircraft motors hears a whisper of “First kiss?”

  


Merlin's heart starts beating faster because he still hasn't gathered enough courage to go there, and because it's the first time Arthur's asked anything and he's asking _this_. “Will, my best friend. I was 15, he was 16. He was... experimenting, and I was desperate,” he answers a little breathlessly. “Shockingly, few people wanted to date a socially awkward twig with Dumbo ears,” he laughs, because that was years ago, and he's supposed to be over it now (he mostly is, really, it's just stings a little bit sometimes). He swallows down the _you?_ that he reflexively wants to add at the end of the sentence.

  


Arthur kisses the shell of his ear and mutters, “I've always liked Dumbo.” It's far from a compliment, but Merlin blushes anyway and ducks his head to hide it. Arthur doesn't push him. “Morgana's then-best friend, Lizzie,” he says instead, resting his chin on Merlin's shoulder, “I was 13. I don't even remember her now.”

  


“First relationship?” Merlin breathes, squirming into a more comfortable position; Arthur's arms fall a few inches from his chest, his hands covering Merlin's in his lap.

  


“Lizzie?” Arthur suggests. “Not sure if it counts. It only lasted a week or so, and it mainly consisted of phone calls Morgana forced me to make,” he laughs. “I'd say, my first relationship was with this guy, Charles. We were fifteen, he was in my class. Lasted a few months, too.”

  


“Edwin,” Merlin returns, cringing, “and if you knew him, I'd be really embarrassed to admit this. I was 17, he was my lab partner. Let's just say it, um, didn't end well. And bugs were involved.”

  


“Oh, god, okay, I really don't wanna know,” Arthur says, but he's laughing and Merlin doesn't feel awkward at all, and he thinks Gwen would be proud of the progress he's made in relaxing around other people, and most importantly, he's having fun. He turns around and brushes his lips on Arthur's cheek gently, questioningly. Arthur leans into it. “So, um, I guess that's it for innocent questions in that department,” he says and laughs. The sound vibrates through Merlin's lips and jaw and it makes him smile. “Worst date?” Arthur asks.

  


“Oh, wow, have a lot to choose from,” Merlin admits easily, because he knows by now that Arthur won't laugh at him. Too much. He turns back to look at the planes under them, the _Virgin Atlantic_ they were supposed to be on four days ago just visible from inside the hangar on the far end of the runways. Arthur rests his cheek on Merlin's, and starts rubbing random patterns into his hands and wrists. “I'm gonna go with... And Gwen actually set me up on this one,” Merlin starts, and Arthur is already laughing because every story that starts with _Gwen talked me into it_ is hilarious, “last year, I had a blind date. Turned out it was some 14-year-old kid, with huge blue eyes, really creepy. Barely said a word through the whole evening. It was awkward as fuck. And you won't believe his name.”

  


“What, Arthur?” Arthur suggests through fits of laughter. Merlin assumes he's imagining a cartoon version of the date, because that's what he always does.

  


“No, Mordred!” he says. Arthur's laugh directly into his ear may be permanently damaging to his eardrums, but it's totally worth it. “I actually think that's the only reason Gwen set us up. The most awkward two hours of my life,” he adds when Arthur's stopped laughing.

  


“Wait, mine's worse,” Arthur says. “In college, there was this guy, Mark. He asked me out one evening, completely out of the blue, took me on a picnic and brought home-made food.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, because that sounds like a good date to him, but Arthur taps his wrist to shut him up. “And he brought these cookies that had peanuts in them.” And now Merlin can see where this is going, because he learned a few hours ago that Arthur's allergic to peanuts; he chuckles a little, imagining Arthur's face swelling while he pretends he's fine, but waits for the rest of the story. “So I ate them, and I knew something was wrong, but you know, he put an effort into baking them and I wanted to be nice. I actually ate quite a few of them, they were good, but then my throat started closing up and I was, like, shit, must've been peanuts. I apologize to the guy, tell him that I forgot about something super important and have to leave immediately, and he stares at me like I killed his pet goldfish or something, so I give him my number, tell him to call me and run to the nearest taxi to get to the hospital. Then, next morning, a courier brings me a basket of home-made peanuts cookies from Mark, who managed to get my address from some internet database of phone numbers. And he keeps sending the cookies for the rest of the month! Fed a homeless guy with them for an entire semester after that,” he finishes while Merlin bends over laughing as he imagines Arthur chucking cookies out of a window of his peanuts-infested apartment.

  


“So...” Merlin starts once he's calmed down. The next logical question would be _best date_ , but he doesn't want to put Arthur in an unpleasant position of feeling like he has to answer _this one_ , so instead he blurts, “Longest relationship?” which is not really the best choice, but still a better alternative.

  


“Um... Two years, a little longer,” Arthur replies without a flinch. “Her name was Sophia, she was, well, the biggest love of my life till then. Even asked her to marry me.”

  


“Did she say no?” Merlin asks quietly, but Arthur shakes his head.

  


“Nah, a friend talked me out of marrying her. Convinced me she was in it for the money. He was right,” he says, a little bitterly, then nudges Merlin's chin with his own and asks, “You?”

  


“Not really a pro at relationships here,” Merlin snorts. “Maybe, 7-8 months, I think? His name was Leon, he was the protective kind. There was never really any spark between us, he just needed someone to protect, and I needed protecting. It was a convenient habit for a while.”

  


Arthur rearranges his legs so they're on either side of Merlin and then makes Merlin half-turn around and face him. “I wanna see your face for this one,” he explains with a wicked smile, and brushes Merlin's hair out of his eyes. “First sex?” he asks quietly. Merlin blushes furiously and closes his eyes, a nervous laugh escaping him.

  


“That's, um, kind of. Personal,” he replies in one breath.

  


“Ya think?” Arthur laughs, and he sounds really close; Merlin opens his eyes just in time to see Arthur lean closer and press their foreheads together. “Knew you would blush,” he teases.

  


“Shut up,” Merlin moans, even as he feels the flush spread literally down to his shoulders. He closes his eyes again because Arthur's smile is blinding this close, and it's making him hot all over in all the right _and_ wrong ways.

  


“Here, I'll go first,” Arthur says, still speaking quietly and Merlin refuses to react to the tingling of his spine at how intimate the moment feels. “With a girl? I was 16, she was 18, we were at a party and we were drunk. And it was awful. It was just... Terrible.” Arthur shakes his head, as if to clear it of the uninvited memory of that night. Merlin sniggers a little, his heart speeding up a little in anticipation of more information. “And with a guy... Well, Charlie and I kinda fumbled a little. It was clumsy and too fast and if I did it now, I probably wouldn't enjoy it, but it was nice back then. But first time I really did something serious with a guy? This guy, Tristan, in college, he was two years older than me. He'd just broken up with his girlfriend and he needed to vent and we were kinda friends, so he stayed over in my room that night. I may have had a crush on him, so one thing led to another and, well. It just sort of happened.” Merlin feels one of Arthur's hands leave his, and then fingers run over his cheekbone. “Hey, you got enough blood left in the rest of your body to breathe?” Arthur needles.

  


“Sod off,” Merlin replies, but there's no real heat in the words, and Arthur must know it, because he doesn't stop touching his face, tracing his cheekbone, eyebrow and the side of his nose with minutely shaking fingers. “This year,” Merlin finally answers. “Met this guy, Gwaine, at a concert. He's a special brand of freak. Likes backpacking and hitch-hiking and staying in run down motels and drinking a lot in cheap pubs, even though he can afford the best of the best. But he made me laugh. A lot. He stayed in New York for a few months, and he slept in my and Gwen's apartment. Gwen worked nights most of the time, I was stressed over my exams and Gwaine was... Relaxing.” Merlin can't help but smile, because he liked Gwaine, he still likes Gwaine, and he has some really fond memories when he thinks about those few months.

  


“Was it good?” Arthur asks, even closer now, their noses pressed against each other, and Merlin doesn't dare open his eyes.

  


“Yes,” he breathes; it comes out shaky because he shivers when Arthur runs his palm down the side of his neck at the same time as he laces the fingers of his other hand through Merlin's. Merlin's palms are sweating, and he can't control the jumping of his right leg, and his chest feels too tight, and there are freaking butterflies in his stomach, and he's regressed to a horny teenager, but fuck it all, he lunges forward swallowing that last inch of air between their lips and kissing Arthur without opening his eyes. Arthur's hand on his neck instantly becomes more persistent, blunt fingernails digging into the sensitive skin as Arthur pulls him closer and slots their mouths together properly. Merlin opens his mouth first and uninvited, but he licks the teasing remark _slut_ off Arthur's tongue before he gets to make it, and the only noise Arthur manages is a very quiet hum. Arthur's lips are rough and dry, so Merlin takes extra care to keep them moist by licking and sucking on them, and Arthur never fails to reward him with an appreciative noise. Merlin finds that keeping up with Arthur's kissing is not easy when his brain is focused on memorizing every detail of every second, so he ends up with Arthur's tongue fucking his mouth, which is just fine for a while, but then he needs to nip on Arthur's lip impatiently because he wants _more_. Arthur's hands settle on his waist to pull him closer, and he clings onto Arthur's hair with one hand while the other one finds Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's mouth tastes like really good coffee, his messed up teeth feel funny under Merlin's tongue and he seems to like it when his hair is pulled on gently, and Merlin catalogues it all into his brain. Arthur tickles the underside of his tongue with the tip of his own and squeezes his hips and Merlin can't bring forth enough dignity to be embarrassed about the moans that spill into Arthur's mouth at that.

  


An announcement of _Virgin Atlantic flight for London, Heathrow, scheduled for December 21_ _st_ _at 7.30 in the evening has been scheduled for tomorrow, 3 o'clock in the afternoon; the international airport_ John F. Kennedy _apologizes for the delay and wishes you a safe journey_ , manages to penetrate their bubble of reality, startles them apart and makes them open their eyes.

  


“We're in an airport,” Merlin states.

  


“Yeah,” Arthur replies, sounding out of breath and hoarse, and kisses his chin.

  


“Our flight has been rescheduled,” Merlin adds in a surprised tone, still lost somewhere on his way back to reality.

  


“Yeah,” Arthur repeats, pressing kisses to Merlin's neck.

  


“We're going home,” Merlin finally says as he detaches Arthur's head from his neck, cradles it in his hands and stares into his eyes. “We're going home tomorrow.”

  


“Yeah,” Arthur tells him and presses their mouth together again. “Lunch?” he offers against Merlin's lips when his stomach makes a displeased sound.

  


It's Merlin's turn to breathe out a “Yeah,” but they don't move from the floor for another fifteen minutes at least.

  


*

  


That evening, after they share a huge sandwich for lunch, and walk around the airport hand in hand, and say hello to Gwen and Lancelot, and sneak off to empty corridors for some more snogging and making out, Arthur walks Merlin back to his chairs. Gwen's already there, sitting with Lancelot, holding his hands and telling him something in a hushed voice. Arthur and Merlin stay far enough away not to hear them.

  


“You should come sleep in the hotel,” Arthur says, playing with Merlin's hair. “I'll pay. For Gwen and Lancelot, too.”

  


“I'll be fine for one more night,” Merlin replies; he's grown inexplicably fond of curling up with Gwen and falling asleep while talking to her. “Besides, I don't put out on the first date,” he teases.

  


“Good thing it's not our first date, then isn't it?” Arthur retorts, running a hand down Merlin's side and settling it on his lower back, but he doesn't go any further, which makes Merlin grateful, but slightly frustrated because he's not sure he wouldn't put out if Arthur requested it. “So,” Arthur says, checking the wall clock behind them, “good, it's still Christmas. Here, I got you a gift.” He untangles himself from Merlin and digs through his pockets before producing Merlin's battered blue iPod wrapped in brand new earphones from one of them. “It's charged,” he explains, placing it in Merlin's hand. Merlin has to remind himself that jumping at Arthur and smothering him in hugs would be way too much. “Gwen said you wouldn't want anything flashy and that this would be just fine,” Arthur adds, sounding defensive and concerned, and Merlin remembers that he hasn't said _thank you_ yet and that his mother is probably turning over in her grave right now.

  


“It's perfect,” he says, throwing his arms around Arthur's neck and kissing the frown off his face. “Thank you.”

  


“You're welcome,” Arthur replies, smiling.

  


“I um. I didn't get you anything,” Merlin mumbles, looking away and flushing a little. He curses his own forgetfulness, but Arthur's warm arms snake around his waist and pull him closer.

  


“It's fine. Thank you for the most wonderful Christmas I've ever had,” Arthur whispers, kissing his ear and nuzzling his neck. Merlin doesn't really know how to reply to that, so he just strokes Arthur's hair and clutches his iPod with a huge grin on his face. “Tomorrow?” Arthur asks after a while, when Lancelot has already walked past them with a silent nod and Gwen has probably already settled in for the night.

  


“Starbucks?” Merlin checks, fingers still tangled in Arthur's hair. Arthur kisses his neck in response.

  


*

  


Gwen tells Merlin how she's already exchanged phone numbers with Lancelot and that they're going out again in London next year. She shows him the scarf she got from Lancelot for Christmas and tells him with shiny eyes (Merlin's not sure if it's just the lighting or if those are tears) how her whole day was filled with people approaching her to thank her for organizing this and tell her how happy they are to have met new people. Merlin tells her about planes taking off and about the warmth of Arthur's hugs and about his honesty. Gwen listens with thinly veiled exuberance and doesn't gloat when Merlin, too, thanks her for the opportunity to spend his holidays with Arthur (Merlin's not sure why he expected her to gloat, she's far too nice of a person for that). She falls asleep quickly, her head on Merlin's shoulder, arm draped over his stomach.

  


Merlin does sleep that night, although he feels it's from sheer physical exhaustion, because under any other circumstances, the exhilaration and apprehension about tomorrow warring inside him would be enough to keep him awake. He dozes off while listening to music on his newly-charged iPod. He swears it's never sounded better.

  


*

  


Merlin's not sure how the hours between arse o'clock in the morning (when he woke up even before the sun shyly peeked through the clouds) and almost-time-to-board-the-flight (when he was biting the back of his hand to muffle the moans, pressed up against a random wall of the airport with Arthur's sinful mouth working his neck expertly) managed to pass in a blink of an eye, but it makes him panicky and fearful, makes him think about _what if_ s and _I hope_ s, and he doesn't like that, so he throws caution to the winds, drags Arthur through the first _Staff only_ door he sees, pushes him against it and presses their bodies flush together. Arthur moans, grabbing Merlin's hips and rolling them until he aligns their erections and Merlin draws in a sharp breath. He wants to drag it out as long as he can, because he has no idea when, and even if, he'll have the chance to do this again, but his hips just won't stay still. Arthur's not complaining though, so Merlin figures he's fine.

  


When Arthur throws his head back with an exasperated sigh and starts thrusting back in earnest, Merlin props himself up against the door with one arm, and slides his free hand under Arthur's shirt to feel the rhythmical flexing of his muscles as he moves his hips. Arthur kisses the arm that's holding him up, and Merlin collapses on top of him, so Arthur flips them over, pressing Merlin against the door and rutting against him at a brutal pace. Merlin can do little but take it, gasping for breath every time Arthur's hard cock drags over his and kissing Arthur sloppily everywhere he can reach. They're still completely dressed, but Arthur's breath is warm on Merlin's lips, his hair is damp under Merlin's fingers, he's making the most erotic noises Merlin's ever heard (including porn), so Merlin lets go, biting on Arthur's lower lip to muffle the groans as he comes. Arthur shifts and rubs against Merlin's hip after that, and Merlin, not having the breath needed to form words, expresses his gratitude by tugging on Arthur's hair and kissing his neck. Arthur doesn't last long.

  


“I feel like I'm 15,” Arthur pants against the side of Merlin's neck as he tries to catch his breath. Merlin's relief (and maybe some hormonal high) makes him laugh. He gently runs his fingers through Arthur's hair and kisses the top of his head. “Oh, gross, now we'll have to travel like this,” Arthur mumbles grudgingly. Merlin's giggles make his legs finally give out, and they both stumble onto the floor, still tangled up and impossibly close.

  


*

  


Merlin falls asleep as soon as the plane's in the air, blissfully content and decidedly ignorant of Lancelot's flustered stuttering and Gwen's amused pride. When he stirs awake, he has no idea how long it's been and, more pressingly, the shoulder he's sleeping on is a lot bigger and more muscled than Gwen's. He recognizes a pleasant minty fragrance under the salty sweat so he has a pretty good idea who it is, but cracks an eye open all the same. Arthur is sleeping with his head resting on the seat, his mouth parted slightly, and he's drooling a little. Merlin titters and it makes Arthur mumble something incoherent. Merlin runs a calming hand over his thigh, kisses the corner of his mouth and whispers, “Sleep.” He leans against Arthur again and closes his eyes. He doesn't fall asleep until he slips his hand into Arthur's and feels Arthur squeeze it gently.

  


*

  


Gwen's brother and father meet them at the airport and their hugging and kissing and crying gives Merlin just enough time to kiss Arthur properly and say goodbye. Arthur promises to stay in touch and, although there's something nagging at him in the back of his mind, Merlin can't not trust him, not with the way Arthur looks at him, blue eyes shining and swollen lips curled upwards.

  


It's during the cab drive to his apartment (Gwen suggested he should come with them, but he refused, not wanting to impose on their long overdue reunion, and promised Elyan to wash his shirt and give it to him before he leaves for the States again) that he remembers – Arthur never asked for his number.

  


*

  


He wakes up unusually late, still sore from not having seen a bed in almost a week. He checks his phone out of habit, refuses to be disappointed when he sees no texts or calls from Arthur, and replies to Gwen's question if he's settled well. His apartment bears signs of abandonment, the wallpaper is peeling off, all the doors and windows creak horribly, boxes covered with dust and furniture covered with sheets adorn the floor, but it still feels like home to Merlin, who still sees his mother making pancakes in the kitchen and putting up framed pictures in the hallway. He walks to the door barefoot and in his pyjamas, opens it and goes to pick up the papers he signed up for when he decided to visit London for the holidays. On top of his _Guardian_ is a paper airplane made of clear white paper with something scribbled on it. He picks it up and reads _Starbucks?_ on one of its wings. His heart skips a beat and he almost forgets to bring the newspapers in as he scrambles to put on something warm and decent, when he freezes, legs caught up in his skinny jeans and buttons on his shirt done the wrong way, realizing how creepy it is that he found a paper airplane at his door. He checks it again, flips it over and sees _ID, dimwit_ on the underside of the wings. He laughs all the way to Starbucks, two streets away from his block of flats.

  


*

  


He doesn't remember much of that day later – it all turns into one long make out session to him, starting out slow and exploratory, clothes still on, but as the day progresses, there's less and less fabric and more and more passion, until all Merlin knows is the whining of his own bed, the fire on his own skin and _Arthur_.

  


*

  


He doesn't talk to Gwen much in the next few days, so he has no idea how she knows anything (he decides they're just creepily connected and she really does read his mind), but when he visits her at home the next time, her father avoids making eye contact, Elyan sports a disturbingly knowing smirk and there's an extra seat cushion on his chair. He doesn't think he's ever been quite so embarrassed in his life.

  


*

  


The next time he flies, Arthur pays for his ticket in the first class, and Merlin swears he'll pay it back, although he knows he can't possibly gather enough money without giving up food, water and electricity all. Morgana comes with them and Merlin finds that she is highly intelligent and educated and that he likes talking to her (much to Arthur's horror). Arthur spends most of the 7-hour flight pouting.

  


*

  


The next time he's at the JFK, he waves at the familiar seats, and their current occupants look at him like he's grown an extra set of equally ridiculous ears, but he just grins at them, because Arthur is standing next to him with two large cups of flavoured Macchiato and that's all he needs to know.

  


*

  


On his first day back at college, it's freezing cold outside, he misses his train, manages to be late to the most interesting class he has (coincidentally also taught by the strictest teacher) and his phone dies halfway through the day. He heads home, annoyed and cold and pissed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. In them, he finds the folded up paper airplane which makes his heart grow to five times the normal size and spill warmth all over his chest. He smiles brightly and goes back to class.

  


*

  


When Gwen comes back from England, Lancelot in tow, she suggests they move out of the apartment they've been renting for almost 5 years now. They spend their last week in their tiny shared home moping and saying goodbye to the most ridiculous things like mould in the bathroom and cracks in the living room and scratches on the floors of their respective rooms. Arthur picks Merlin up and waves at the messy flat with him. In front of the building they say goodbye to Gwen (securely tucked under Lancelot's arm) and Lancelot (who looks absolutely hilarious, being a pile of muscles with a besotted smile plastered on his face) and make plans for getting together next week.

  


On their way to Starbucks, Merlin turns around to look at his old bedroom window for the last time. His hand is in Arthur's coat pocket, where Arthur holds it, fingers laced, and gently runs his thumb over Merlin's wrist, and Merlin decides that this is another one of Gwen's good ideas.

**Author's Note:**

> Erm, so, first modern AU and first seriously alternate AU? xD Also, fluff is not my forte, no sir. Nor is porn (in fact, first time writing anything resembling porn at all). I blame the holidays for this whole story.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and thank you for reading ^^


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